I REMEMBER....learning a cowboy lesson

 

Here I am, remembering again……something I’ve been doing lately. And you know, it seems to me that some of my fondest memories are those of lessons learned. Today’s recollection is a prime example of that.

So, what am I remembering today…..and what lesson did it teach me? Well, if you are my age you too will remember The Lone Ranger and Silver, Roy Rogers and Trigger, and Gene Autry and Champion. But do you remember Gil and Star?

True story…..I was 33 years old. I had bought a ranch, 1,400 acres in the Oregon Outback. We had moved our family there, stocked it with cattle and their calves, and were preparing to drive the herd to the distant summer pasture. 

That’s right…..I had become a cowboy. But in those early days of my ranching career I was a cowboy without a horse. Truth to tell, that was okay with me, ‘cause I really didn’t like horses all that much. But a cowboy without a horse……what would The Ranger, or Roy, or Gene think of that? Clearly, it was time to add Gil and Star to that illustrious list of cowboys and their trusty mounts.

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By early March the preliminaries were over and I was about to face the reality of playing cowboy…..the calving, the round-up, the branding, and finally the long cattle drive to the high mountains.…a long, tiring day in the saddle.

If you watched as many westerns as I did growing up you know the truth of it. Being a cowboy has always been about a man and his horse. It was time for me to meet Star. Though our story of man and mount coming together was nowhere near as romantic as those of Roy, or Gene, or the Ranger, it did reflect my new life at Poison Creek Ranch.

But first things first. What did I know about shopping for a horse? (Actually, real cowboys would never talk about “shopping” for a horse.) Anyway, where does one go to buy a horse? How would I know what sort of horse I needed? How would I know if the price was right? Finally, how would I know when, or if, I had found the right one?

You see, while Trigger, Champion, and Silver were smart, well-trained movie-star horses, my Star would have to be even smarter than them. After all, Roy, Gene, and The Ranger knew how to tell their mount what to do and when to do it. My Star, on the other hand, would be absolutely on his own. His not-so-trusty rider had no idea what to do, or how to do it. It would be up to the pony. Where would I find a horse that smart?

Chances are you’ve heard about horse traders. It seems they have gathered a rather unsavory reputation over the years, as shady con-men waiting to unload a gimpy, used-up nag on some unsuspecting tenderfoot. Well, in our case we definitely had the tenderfoot, and before we were done we would have a mostly used-up old nag. But luckily, we also had a honest horse trader who really knew his business.

By any measure Fred Curry was a real cowboy, the latest generation of the Curry clan to ranch in the verdant Juntura Valley….a veritable garden spot in the Malhuer River drainage. When he talked about horses you could tell he knew what he was talking about. He was definitely the right fellow to help in my horse search. That process began when Fred came calling at our ranch. Once there, it didn’t take  him long to gather the information he required. 

You see, except for an ill-fated group ride at a coastal tourist stable, I had never been on a horse. (Not counting the State Fair carousel.) Truth be told, I had the look of an arm-chair cowboy. Beyond that, I was not too excited about the prospect of long, cattle-drive with hours in the saddle. In a matter of minutes Fred realized that it would take some serious looking to find a suitable mount for such an unpromising rider.

The answer he settled on was Star. It was hard to imagine another horse in all of Eastern Oregon better qualified for the job ahead. He was a well-trained gelding, docile enough for even the most inexperienced horseman to feel comfortable on his back.`

So how old was Star? Real cowboys consider that an important bit of information….like a car buyer wanting to know how many miles on the odometer. Since I did not know enough to ask that question, Fred volunteered his answer.

To a knowledgable horse trader a horse’s age can be determined by checking the wear of its teeth. Though it was not an exact science, a professional can come pretty close….except, by the time a horse reaches fifteen or sixteen years old the degree of tooth wear is harder to read. At that point age determination becomes less reliable. While most potential buyers would reject such an animal, in our case Fred Curry had already decided that advanced age would be a virtue.

In time I would learn that most Harney County cowboys liked their mounts to be young, frisky, and a little hard to handle. “Something with spunk,” was the way our neighbor, Thad Geer, put it. Perhaps it was the challenge they were looking for, being able to show everyone that they could manage that sort of animal.

Fortunately, Fred Curry had understood from the beginning that I was not in the market for a “spunky” ride. This was how he stated his case. “In his day ole Star was a real good cow pony. He still knows exactly what to do and how to do it. Thing is, he’s older now, and he doesn’t react as fast as he used to. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s been a few years since Star saw fifteen or sixteen.

“But there’s a plus side to that,” Fred continued. “It means he won’t give you any sudden moves. He’ll be a step or two slower than the other ponies, but you won’t get any quick jerks or unexpected stops. Fact is, ole Star is past the “sudden” stage.”

With that we led Star to the corral, and packed the saddle, blanket, and bridle that were part of the deal into the barn. At that moment it felt like the time for talking was over. It was time to be a real cowboy. After all, I now had my very own cow pony.

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I had a ranch, some cows, and a horse. Still, simply having a horse was not enough to make anyone a cowboy. It would be riding my horse that would confirm my ‘cowboyness‘ (There’s a new word for you.) 

Truth be told, at that point I was a bit intimidated by the whole cowboy thing. Could I do it all by himself….saddling my horse without someone else around to lend a hand? To begin with, how would I even catch Star, who was roaming free in the large corral and adjoining hillside pasture? 

If you will remember, Roy, Gene, and the Ranger had only to whistle to have their movie-star mounts racing toward them. The couple times I called him from the side of the corral it was hard to tell if Star even heard my summons, or was simply ignoring the distraction.

So how could I ride Star for the first time if I could not coax him close enough to put a saddle on his back? Fortunately, I was not dealing with someone like myself. The other half of our transaction was a horse….a very savvy horse, who had long before learned to deal with timid, not-so-savvy humans.

 The plan, which Star allowed me to think was my own, was a simple one…. based on the horse’s already observed response to the sound of a few scoops of oats rattling in a tin bucket. That alone was enough to have him trotting toward the barn for a welcome treat. Seconds later, as he stood quietly with his nose in the bucket, it was an easy thing to slip a rope around the horse’s neck and tie the other end to the fence. Star, of course, knew the routine.

With my mount thus secured it was easy enough to throw the saddle blanket over its back, taking care to smooth out any wrinkles, per Fred Curry’s instructions. Next came the saddle, a bulky, hard-to-handle piece of gear that would be a bit more complicated. It took two or three tries, but eventually the saddle was in place, ready to cinch up. With a hurried trip between the horse’s legs and under its belly to grab the cinch strap, it was a simple matter to feed the strap through the buckle rings and pull it tight.

That left one last step to complete the saddling process. Fred had warned me that an old pony like Star had learned to inhale a belly full of air to expand his girth as the cinch was being tightened. Then, when the air was expelled, the constricting belt would not be uncomfortably tight. Fred’s way of outsmarting his mount was to forcefully jab a knee into the horse’s belly, causing it to exhale before a last tightening of the cinch. With that in mind, I provided my own jab at Star’s gut and pulled the strap tight.

The saddle was in place. That left just one piece of unfinished business to be accomplished before Star and I set off on an inaugural ride to the far end of the alfalfa field. That last step would be the bridle, the rider’s steering mechanism, which had to be fitted in place.

Have you ever stopped to consider how big a horse’s head is, or how large and deep its mouth? And those teeth, even the worn and aged ones Fred spoke of, were equally large, and a bit intimidating. What if Star did not want that piece of cold metal in his mouth?

As before my timid concerns were for nought. It took only the sight of the bridle held before him to have Star opening his mouth, waiting for what he knew came next. As I expected the teeth were large, but once I realized there would be no resistance it took only a minute or two to have the bridle strapped firmly in place. Finally, with my trusty mount saddled and ready, I was prepared for my first Star-ride.

And a good ride it was….over the back hill, down the road that led to the irrigation well, then back toward the barn. It was a slow ride, as I grew more comfortable with my place in the saddle. Then, on our return, as we approached the shallow creek that ran across the road things became more interesting.

I was becoming more confident by the minute. I tugged on the reins, pulling Star to a stop, slipped down from the saddle, and reins-in-hand led him to the water for a drink. Truth be told, I was feeling rather proud of myself. I had overcome my initial anxieties, saddled the horse, and gone for an extended ride. Why wouldn’t I feel good about that?

Minutes later it was time for the last short ride over the hill to the barn. Gathering the reins, I stepped into the stirrup and grabbed the saddle horn to pull myself into the saddle….at least that was the plan.

Instead, I was pulling the saddle horn towards me, and my foot in the stirrup was slipping under the horse. A moment later I lay flat on my back beside the creek. Though the cinch strap was still buckled, the too-loose saddle had slid under Star’s belly and was hanging there upside-down. 

You may have heard of Horse Whisperers, who claim they can talk to horses. Perhaps they can. But what about a deflated cowboy who was absolutely certain he could read his horse’s mind?

In the course of my sudden collapse Star had remained perfectly still. Now he stood passively, looking down into my face. Do horses grin, or chuckle under their breath? At that point I was sure I detected hints of equine laughter. As to what the motionless animal might be thinking….it must surely have been something like, “You silly, wannabe cowboy, I got you this time.”

When I had finally wrestled the saddle back in place, my not-so-subtle knee in Star’s belly was harder than before, enough to elicit an audible grunt. In the end it was one of those lessons a budding cowboy needed to learn. It must have stuck with me, because our next outings, during the days before the cattle drive, passed without incident.